


Voiceless

by Cantatrice18



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Disabled Character, Drama, Flashbacks, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-13
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-30 09:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3931114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Joey's interpreter, Kenny, had been shot at Rosslyn instead of Josh?</p><p>Structured like "In the Shadow of Two Gunmen", featuring flashbacks of Joey's past with Kenny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Josh stumbled as he made his way through the crowd of police cars and ambulances. All around him, medics were shouting instructions at one another. The crowd members who had shown up for a glimpse of the President were in complete disarray, some sobbing, others searching for people they’d lost in the chaos. “Sam?” Josh shouted, spotting a familiar figure a few yards away. 

Sam turned, relief evident on his face as he saw Josh. “You’re alright.”

“Yeah, and the others?”

“The president got in a limo, as did Zoe, and they just put Leo in a car. CJ is over there,” he pointed towards a police car with a shattered window. “She hit her head. Toby is somewhere, I saw him a second ago.”

“Thank God for that,” Josh said fervently. “Listen, have you seen—“

His question was cut off by a scream unlike anything he’d ever heard, a wordless, feral sound of absolute terror. His heart sank as he ran towards the sound, hoping against hope that the scream didn’t mean what he thought it did. He raced up the shallow steps that led to the auditorium and froze.

Joey Lucas was kneeling on the ground, her hands stained red with blood. Her interpreter, Kenny, lay on the asphalt in front of her, his eyes wide and staring. Joey looked up at Josh, her face a mask of pain and fear. “I need a doctor!” Josh yelled, “I need help!”

Paramedics rushed towards him, zeroing in on Kenny and calling out orders. Josh got out of their way, instead going towards Joey and taking her arm, pulling her up until she stood and guiding her away from Kenny. She strained against him, trying to see what the medics were doing, but Josh tightened his hold on her and shook his head. “Let them work,” he said, then realized she couldn’t hear him. He reached out and touched her cheek, yanking his hand back when she spun to face him. “Let them work,” he repeated, “They’ll take care of him.”

Joey said nothing. Instead she began to sign at top speed, her fingers flying. Josh shook his head and she checked herself, looking horrified. “I can’t…” she began, choking over the words.

“I know,” Josh replied, speaking slowly and in a comforting tone he hoped she could somehow appreciate. “It’s alright. Let’s go to the hospital.”

She nodded and let him lead her down the steps and into a waiting car. The ride to GW was long and silent. Joey leaned against him and he could feel her trembling. Her eyes had a far away look, as though her thoughts were of a different time and a different place entirely. 

...

She sat at a table in the corner of the crowded restaurant, pleating and repleating her napkin as she waited. Her expectations weren’t high. In fact, she rather hoped she’d be able to reject him that very afternoon. She didn’t want a male interpreter. She didn’t want her voice to be that of some middle-aged man, not when she was trying to blend in and be taken seriously by her peers and her teachers. Her previous interpreter, Louise, had been her mother’s age, which was bad enough. She’d seen the shock on people’s faces, her first months at UCLA, when people had asked her a question and heard the reply spoken by a mature adult instead of a teenager. Now she was headed to Stanford, her first time living away from home, her first chance to really double down and focus on her passion: Political Science. The last thing she needed was to be labeled as more different than she already was. 

There was a tap on her shoulder and she looked up into the smiling brown eyes of a young man with curly dark hair and a wide, friendly smile. “Hello,” he signed. “You must be Josephine. I’m Kenny Thurman.”

“Joey,” she corrected. “How did you know it was me?”

“Because I said your name really loudly from right behind you and you didn’t answer.”

“Oh.” She looked away, embarrassed.

“I’m joking,” he signed. “I had your picture in the file the agency sent me.”

“Oh,” Joey repeated, feeling slightly better. “Sit down.” 

She gestured to the chair across from her and he sat, setting down the briefcase he carried. “This is a nice place,” he remarked, looking around. “Do you come here often?”

“How long have you been an interpreter?” Joey asked, ignoring his question.

“Professionally? Four years. I’ve worked mostly in court, up till now.”

“So you’ve never been paired with just one person for a long period of time?” Joey wondered why she’d even bothered to interview him. He obviously had very little experience with the sort of things she needed in an interpreter.

“I’ve translated for my sister her entire life. Also my college roommate, for social situations at least. I know it’s not the same, but I promise you I’m up for the task.”

“Why?” Joey asked, genuinely curious. “Why would you want to be my interpreter? It’s a full-time job, you rarely get to speak for yourself, you’d have to attend all my classes, the pay isn’t great, you’d have to leave L.A. and move north, you’d—“

“I like that,” he interrupted. He was still smiling, but there was a slight wistfulness to it. “Most of the people I interpret for have a low level of education, very few prospects in the world. You’re unique. You’re clearly intelligent and driven, or you wouldn’t have gotten this far. I like that. I want to help you.”

Joey paused, thinking, then pointed to a nearby table where a man and woman sat talking quietly. “What are they saying?”

Without hesitation, Kenny began to sign both sides of the conversation. Though he glanced once or twice at the couple, his gaze remained mostly on her. Somehow, rather than making her feel scrutinized or uncomfortable, she felt an odd sense of security in the way he observed her, waiting for her to interrupt him. He paused in his translation as a waitress came over to their table. “Can I help you?” the woman asked. Kenny looked at Joey enquiringly.

Joey signed a complicated set of gestures as quickly as she could. Kenny turned to the waitress. “Fillet of sole with lemon, no snap peas, and a house salad with raspberry vinaigrette on the side. And more water please,” he glanced at Joey, who made a quick gesture. “No ice,” he finished. “And I’ll have the ravioli.”

The waitress departed and Kenny looked at Joey questioningly. She bit her lip. “Can you commit to the first semester, to see how things work out?”

He beamed at her. “Of course.”

…

The hospital waiting room was crowded. Aides to the President, secret service agents, senior staff, all waited for news of the President’s health. When the doctors finally came out of surgery to announce that the President would make a full recovery, the tension in the room broke. People were hugging, crying in relief, smiling for the first time since the shooting. Only one person remained unmoved. Joey sat in the corner, her eyes trained on the floor. She barely seemed to notice when Josh came to sit next to her, even when he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Joey,” he said softly, motioning to get her attention. She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “It’s going to be several more hours before they finish with his surgery. You should rest.”

Unsurprisingly, she shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Joey—“

“I can’t,” she choked out. “I’m all he has here.”

“…sorry,” Josh said awkwardly, unable to understand her speech.

She pulled out a pen and grabbed a day-old newspaper from one of the side tables in the waiting room. “I’m closest to him,” she wrote. “11 years together.”

“Does he have family?” Josh asked, curious.

Joey nodded. “Sister,” she said.

“They’re close?” 

Joey nodded again and leaned over the paper to write. “Sister is in California. Diana.”

“Diana Thurman?” asked Josh. “I’ll make sure she’d contacted.”

“Thank you. I—“ Joey swallowed, seemingly unable to continue. Her hand moved to her throat.

“I understand,” Josh said quickly. “You don’t have to use your voice.” 

Joey glanced towards the operating room. The pen dropped from her fingers as she rested her head in her hands. Josh pulled her closer, rubbing her back, and they relapsed into silence once more.

…

It was during her first statewide campaign, when she was deputy manager for a democratic candidate trying to break into the traditionally conservative bastion that was Northern California. Several of the senior staffers had taken a trip to Sacramento for a week, to try and work out new funding strategies. They were headed back north that morning, and had to make a campaign stop in Shasta along the way, so at 7:30AM Joey knocked on the door that separated her room from Kenny’s, and waited. When he opened it, she saw that his shirt was buttoned wrong and his hair was sticking out at all angles. “Sorry,” he signed, “I overslept. I’ll be ready in just a second.”

He grabbed a tie and shaving kit out of his suitcase and hurried to the bathroom mirror. Joey wandered into the room and sat on the end of his bed, looking around with mild curiosity. She’d always thought of herself as a light and efficient packer, but she was extravagant compared to Kenny. Everything fit neatly into a small black bag with a shoulder strap that left his hands free to sign. Beside the bag, a briefcase with plain file folders sat open, several papers poking out the top. Joey hesitated, then slid the briefcase closer and pulled out one of the papers. She’d always wondered why he carried a briefcase, when all he did was translate what she told him. Now she frowned as she examined the paper in her hands. It was a memo she’d written a week earlier, before the trip, outlining campaign finance reform and the California budget. She pulled out another paper, and found an analysis of environmental safety proposals. “What is this?” she asked, as Kenny returned from the bathroom. 

He looked from the papers in her hand to the briefcase and blushed. “Oh, that. Well, I’ve been…studying.”

“Why?” she asked, genuinely intrigued. 

“Because, well,” he shrugged awkwardly. “I’m your interpreter, your voice. I should at the very least understand what you’re saying to me. What you do is important, and I don’t want to embarrass you by saying something wrong.”

“So you’re reading my memos?”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop,” he signed hurriedly.

“Not at all. Thank you, for caring about the work we do.”

If he noticed her use of “we”, he didn’t show it. “I just have to grab my things, and then we can go.” He closed his briefcase, grasped his bag, and nodded to her. She led the way out into the hall, feeling a tad more confident than she had when she’d woken up that morning.

…

“His condition is still serious, and there’s no guarantee he won’t encounter complications over the next few days, so we’d like to keep him here for now. But the surgery was very successful.” 

“I want to see him,” Joey said, stepping towards the doctor. 

Josh saw the look of awkward confusion on the doctor’s face and caught the man’s eye. “She wants to see him,” he translated.

“Is she a family member?” the doctor asked.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” 

Everyone turned to see the First Lady standing behind them, having just come from visiting the President. “Let her see him,” the First Lady commanded, her tone sharp. “She’s been out here for hours, waiting for news. He’s her interpreter - surely that’s near enough to being family.”

The doctor looked between the nearly identical expressions of Joey and the First Lady, clearly torn. “… Alright. Not too long, though. He’ll just be waking from the anesthetic, don’t expect him to comprehend much, or say anything.” The man looked at Josh, his eyebrows raised. “You, too?”

Josh nodded, and followed close behind Joey as the doctor led them out of the waiting room and to the recovery area. He stopped at a half-open door and motioned for the pair of them to enter. “Use the call button if anything seems wrong.” He looked meaningfully at Josh, as though Josh were somehow Joey’s keeper, then left. Josh turned his attention to the hospital bed. Kenny’s skin was very pale, a hint of five-o’clock shadow along his jaw line. His hair was mussed and dark with sweat. As Josh watched, Kenny stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. Joey took a few quick steps until she stood at his bedside, then reached down and grasped his hand. His eyes were unfocused, roving about the room, but his gaze solidified when he saw her standing over him. His lips curved into a weak smile as he raised his free hand. Slowly and hesitantly, he began to sign. Josh recognized some of the signs from the alphabet Joey had taught him, but he didn’t need to translate to understand. Tears flowed freely down Joey’s cheeks as she watched Kenny’s hand form letters. Bending over, she brought Kenny’s other hand to her lips and kissed it. “What did he say?” Josh asked, nervous that he was interrupting something personal between the two.

Joey shook her head. “Nothing,” she replied. 

She didn’t seem offended, but Josh still felt as though he’d invaded her privacy by even asking. “I’ll wait outside,” he said, moving towards the door. “If you need anything, I’m right here.”

Joey nodded, her attention back on Kenny. As Josh left, he saw her begin to sign.


	2. Epilogue

“… not unreasonable. But most of the interpreter casualties are on the frontline of a war.”

The President, dressed in a robe and loafers, stood at Kenny’s bedside, the First Lady close by and Secret Service Agents guarding the door. On the far side of the bed, still holding Kenny’s hand, stood Joey. Kenny seemed perfectly content to have her there, and signed a message to her while mouthing words. “He says he’s glad you’re alright, Mr. President,” translated Joey.

The President frowned. “Are you his interpreter?”

Joey watched Kenny reply, and smiled. “For now,” she explained. 

“As it should be,” the President replied. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he said, retreating towards the door. “Best wishes for a speedy recovery, Kenny.”

“You too, Mr. President,” responded Joey. As the President left, she released Kenny’s hand and pulled up a chair. Then, carefully so that he could follow the movements, she began to sign, telling him everything that had happened the night before. Through it all, he watched her with the same trust and affection she’d learned to give him during their decade together, his smile as open and genuine as the first day they’d met.


End file.
